


The Morning Of

by SelinOriginal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff, One Shot, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:54:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26510233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SelinOriginal/pseuds/SelinOriginal
Summary: Bill and Fleur share a sweet moment before their wedding begins--the calm before the storm.--It was 9 AM on his wedding day and Bill was standing behind a tent in the garden, hiding from everyone he loved.
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Bill Weasley
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	The Morning Of

**Author's Note:**

> FUCK JK ROWLING, FUCK TERFS!!! This is an anti-TERF story. Just a cute Bill-and-Fleur one shot that I wrote for a writing exercise w/friends a few months ago. I've never written these characters before, but I love their dynamic and I think JK Rowling did them dirty in canon because she hates women lmfao. Anyways, onto the cute story!!! Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, and I HATE TERFS

It was 9 AM on his wedding day and Bill was standing behind a tent in the garden, hiding from everyone he loved. This was the first real moment of solitude he had been able to manage since returning to the warm chaos of his childhood home in Ottery St Catchpole. Bill had learned long ago that this corner of the garden was the best spot for any nefarious (or Non-Mum Approved) activities. Today, he was clandestinely smoking a much-needed pipe packed with something strong and fragrant that his mates from Gringotts had smuggled back from Egypt. Taking a puff, Bill filled his lungs with burning, purple, cinnamon-tinged smoke. He couldn’t decide if the aftertaste was delicious or disgusting, but either way the smoking was a reliable distraction from thinking about the future.

Bill loved Fleur. He never saw it coming, but loving her was the purest, truest thing he had ever known. He wished with all his heart that he could vow at the altar to protect her and know with complete certainty that he’d be able to keep that promise. In times like these, there  _ was _ no certainty--there was no protecting anyone, not really. The post-wedding plan was to stay hidden away together at Shell Cottage for as long as possible. Ideally, forever. As long as he was with Fleur, Bill knew he was where he needed to be. He could figure the rest out later.

A sudden rustling sound snapped Bill from his thoughts. “Oh  _ shit _ ,” he hissed, positioning his pipe-holding arm behind his back as smoothly and naturally as he could and preparing for a good old-fashioned Molly Weasley scolding.

A figure popped through the small opening in the side of the tent. A familiar blonde, radiant, flannel-clad figure.

“Baby! You have no idea how glad I am that it’s you.” Bill immediately sighed with relief and enveloped Fleur in his arms, careful to extend his hand away and hold the pipe as far as possible from her (potentially flammable) hairsprayed updo. Her body felt most familiar when it was wrapped up in his own. Even the powdery, intoxicating way Fleur smelled felt like it had become a part of how Bill conceived of himself somehow.

“Who else would it be?” She murmured softly in his ear, rocking them both back and forth in the embrace.

“I thought you were asleep--I thought you were Mum coming to chew me out one last time for getting pipe ash in her begonia patch.”

Fleur removed herself from Bill’s arms and raised a finely sculpted eyebrow. “Bill, if you are mistaking me for your mother on our wedding day, we have much bigger problems than the smoking,” she teased.

Bill smirked. “Don’t get me wrong, I am  _ very _ glad it was you.” He looked Fleur up and down, fully appreciating how much work she had put into her appearance, only half-made up and still the most stunning witch he had ever seen. Fleur blushed at the attention, forgetting that her hair was up in bridal chignon as she tried to brush the fringe from her forehead anyway.

She gave him a small smile. “Bill...we are not finished discussing your mother.”

He sighed deeply. “Oh no. What’s the woman done now? Critiqued how you fold your towels,  _ again _ ? I swear, I’ve got to have a talk with her abou--”

“No! No! Nothing like that.” Fleur shook her head. “Actually, it was quite nice. Molly brought an apple pastry to our room for my breakfast. Then...she gave me something. I have it here.” Bill watched as she pulled out a shimmering sapphire necklace from her shirt’s collared neckline--a necklace he knew well. It was an item Bill had only seen in the photos lining the Burrow’s mantle. Photos of his mother and father, looking impossibly young and bright, cheerfully waving and kissing on their own wedding day. He’d thought the necklace would have been long-sold by now, the money used to buy new robes or broomsticks or something. But Mum had kept it.

Fleur’s eyes began to sparkle with emotion as she continued. “Molly said, when she gave it to me, that she loves me very much--as she would love her own daughter. She wanted me to know that. She held my hand for a very long time. The pastry got cold, it was so long! This means so much to me, Bill.” Fleur delicately touched the necklace’s burnished bronze chain as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

“Oh,” Bill said somewhat stupidly, still processing, but Fleur understood.

“I had to find you and tell you,” she said. “Even though it is our wedding day, and it is against the rules to see one another. I knew you would be here.”

“Wait, how  _ did _ you know where I’d be?” He asked.

“Well, on that third date--the, ah...pub date? With the bathrooms that we got to know  _ very _ well? Ah, well, you told me about this spot. And I didn’t forget! I remembered.”

Fleur was so proud of this fact that she gestured animatedly with her arms as she recounted it, the billowy giant-ness of the flannel pajama shirt she’d borrowed from Bill’s closet emphasized by the movement.

Bill took a step closer to her. “See, I thought I’d gotten you so thoroughly distracted that night that you forgot your own name, let alone whatever I said to you at dinner.”

Fleur’s cheeks betrayed no hint of a blush and she barely batted an eyelash. “Oh, that I remember. I think about it a lot, you know. Thought about it several times in the shower last night…” At that, Bill made a move to lean in for a kiss, but she took a step back.

“Wait!” She put a hand on his chest. “My darling, we must save  _ something _ for tonight.” Bill paused-- _ maybe she was right? _ Just then, Fleur laughed as she pulled Bill forward by his shirt, kissing him hard. “Just kidding,” she whispered into the space between Bill’s neck and ear as she pulled away, a hand cupping his cheek. “I love you, darling. You are the man of my dreams.” Fleur placed a gentle kiss on Bill’s largest scar, her favourite spot to treat tenderly. “I am so proud to be marrying you.” She took the pipe from his hand and took a hit herself--the too-bold, too-much puff of a former Triwizard Champion. Fleur had a coughing fit. In between coughs, she choked out, “Ugh! This smoke! Disgusting!”

Bill laughed and rubbed Fleur’s back as she conjured a glass of water for herself. “I am so proud to be marrying  _ you _ ,” he repeated softly. This was already the happiest day of his life.


End file.
